


Divine Blessing

by greygerbil



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Cannibalism, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 08:26:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17097254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: There is much Sean needs to contend with in his new life as a Skal and accepting Jonathan Reid's continued presence promises to be one of the greater challenges he'll have to conquer, one way or the other.





	Divine Blessing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scorpiod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiod/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, I hope it's been great. Like you, I wanted more scenes of Jonathan and Sean together past chapter three, so in this treat they grow, well, a lot closer after the end of the game.
> 
> In this theoretical playthrough of the game, Jonathan and Elisabeth were just friends.

There was no proper way to dispose of corpses in London these days, especially not those belonging to the kind people that ended up in Sean’s shelter. It used to be that he could convince the men who ran the graveyards to at least put them up in sacred earth, even if it was in an unmarked, cramped space where they ended up stacked on top of each other without caskets. Nowadays, the bodies of God’s children were thrown into open mass graves like so much refuse. Though Sean didn’t believe this impeded their journey to heaven, was sure that even those whose burial did not mirror that of Jesus Christ would rise up again – for he knew in his heart God would not be so cruel to His poor and unfortunate children –, he found the practice lacked all respect for the dead. Besides, being often acquainted with the living they left behind, he was aware what pain it caused them to have nowhere to grieve but one of these awful pits. But the authorities could barely keep people under ground in the districts where they could pay for graves, so there was little to be expected here, where politicians never treaded.

Sean sat silently over the dead body of yet another soul claimed by the Spanish flu who had no one in the world to cry for them. It was only after long prayer that he wrapped the man’s light hair around his fingers and cut off a strand of it with a sharp knife. This was a small enough piece of the body to bury discreetly, and yet enough of a part of them that Sean liked to imagine it was significant.

He always tried to take hair if possible. He did not like cutting off chunks of flesh because it meant he could theoretically confuse the part he’d set aside to bury with the one he wanted to eat, and the thought of that was so ridiculous and pitiful he did not want to chance it.

His thoughts always wandered to the Books of Kings in those moment. _And the dogs shall eat Jezebel in the portion of Jezreel, and there shall be none to bury her._ It had been a judgement upon Jezebel for preaching of false prophets and persecuting those of the Lord. The dogs were just God’s harsh punishment, an instrument without will. Sean was one of those dogs now, it felt, and he wasn’t even eating sinners.

He had never thought so harshly of the Skals in the ten years he’d known of them as he did of himself now, and he still didn’t bear them any ill will. It was just himself he fought with, illogical as it was. Though a man of the Lord, he was also a citizen of earth, and not the happiest part of it. It had happened more than once that, when Sean spoke with a priest from a nicer part of town, they had found themselves quite at odds in their reading of scripture and their believes. He’d been told he bent the divine rules too far and preached too little of punishment even when it came to humans. What would those men have said of Skals? But plainly spoken, if vampires existed, surely the least terrifying ones were those who could just feed on bodies whose souls had left them behind? The body was just a hull, after all, for the soul was raised immortal to God. If they controlled themselves properly, Skals hurt no living being – and the same could be said of humans, after all. Thus, who was Sean to say they were evil and unworthy of God’s mercy? There was hope for everyone who had not given up on themselves.

However, once his brief, feverish haze had been cured by Jonathan Reid, feeding himself had become a very unhappy obligation indeed. He thanked the Lord and, well, Reid for making sure he needed to eat only very little, barely once a week, and at least if he didn’t he got tired now instead of hungry. This was the opposite of the twitchy, aggressive hunting instincts he’d felt as the poisoned blood was still ruling him and much less dangerous. But eventually, he also had to do something to help it…

Sean chose a piece of the dead man’s calf, cut it out and chewed on it while he undressed him. He usually liked to eat at a table to keep up a remembrance of human civility, but he had so much to do and so little time and his teeth were strong enough to tear through raw muscle and crack bones, so he made use of them. Ever since Reid had cured his hunger, flesh had tasted bland, like what he remembered of the oatmeal they’d had every morning back in the orphanage. He preferred fresh meat, though, because the texture of badly decaying flesh made him heave, but that was probably just a hold-over from his time alive. Sean hoped it would go away eventually. He was praying earnestly for times to come when he wouldn’t have a couple of fresh, unclaimed corpses every week, after all. Knowing his flock dying around him meant an easy meal on his plate was too macabre to dwell on, so he tried not to.

Once Sean was done, he stacked the infected man’s clothes on the pile to burn and grabbed the corpse, laboriously moving it down the stairs and to the thick door that separated his shelter from the sewers. He was a bit stronger now than he remembered being in life, but corpses were still unwieldy and for their dignity’s sake, he always tried to not drag them like a hawk would a dead rat. A couple of weeks ago, a dead woman’s arm falling over his chest had gotten tangled up in his rosary and torn it off. Seeing the beads and cross spill all over the dirty concrete floor as he wrestled a corpse he’d taken his dinner out of had left Sean shaken for a half dozen nights to come. It could be a very unfortunate sign indeed, but he finally looped a leather band through the cross and put it back around his neck regardless, knowing he couldn’t do anything but pray it was not so.

Sean unlocked the gate and set the corpse down on the ground just behind the door. Old Bridget would know what to do with it. Sean had done this a few times even before he’d turned Skal himself. At least down here with Old Bridget’s people, the body did something else than rot in the sun and spread its diseases to the undertakers and grave robbers.

Back in the workshop he scrubbed himself clean so that he would not pass on this plague he could not catch to his flock and then walked up the stairs to his office. This was the only time at night when there was any chance it would be quiet, at about three, when even most of the chronic drunks had stumbled to their accustomed spots to pass out, the night workers were in the factories, and the ones who had to get up early for their shifts did not yet stir. Sean stood in the door to his office and looked over the sleeping forms of a family huddled together under a blanket close-by. The Halson’s house had gone up in a fire and now they were on the streets with two little girls, looking desperately for somewhere cheap enough to stay. Mr. Halson had lost an arm in the war to a festering gunshot wound, and some of his will to live by watching his wife work her hands bloody in the factory. Sean had spoken often to him and felt the mix of awed pride and shame with which he regarded her and which strained their relationship more than their money troubles. Mrs. Halson had stolen to feed her children when her husband had gotten fired from his last job, but she hadn’t told her husband that since she was afraid it would break his trust in her strength.

Each and every person here was a bundle of such secrets, enough of them dark. Sean was well-aware that most people looking inside his shelter from without didn’t think there was much to these men and women, forlorn and bitter as most were, but his heart still broke for them. For every maddening case like Dyson, who had so completely given up on himself, there were ten who really did try with everything they had.

Lost in thought, he only noticed after a moment that the youngest Halson girl had opened her eyes and was looking back at him, the blanket pulled up to her nose. Sean gave her a smile, well-aware how scary this dark, cold, crowded place must seem to the poor thing, and then turned away and headed for the door to give her as much privacy as anyone could hope to have here. When he pushed out into the yard, an icy wind greeted him. He quickly pulled the gate shut again as to not let the draft in. There were still some people in the tents who were so contagious he could not risk treating them inside the asylum. On nights such as these, he felt guilty for it.

Steps sounded behind him. Sean turned, expecting to see one of his customers, but instead found himself facing a tall, dark figure in a long coat. Jonathan Reid’s eyes were pale and bright like snow in starlight.

“Sean,” Reid said. “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” Sean answered. “Are you here to visit one of my flock? I’m afraid they’re all sleeping.”

In his function as a doctor Reid had business here sometimes, even now that he had tamed the monster that had caused the epidemic, of which Sean had been told by Old Bridget and those Skals who had escaped the massacre.

“That’s alright. Could you just give this to Lottie Paxton when she wakes up? She’s been complaining about a headache.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Dr. Reid.”

Sean held out his hand and took a small vial from Reid.

It was very easy to like him. Sean did. He liked that Reid was the one doctor who would come, even unprompted, and take a look at his customers. Obviously, he understood that Reid had put his life on the line saving the city from the terrible creatures that played with the fate of those within it, which spoke for him immensely. More likely than not, he’d saved both Sean’s life and soul. Sean should be grateful, and he was. Nevertheless, he still felt a twinge of resentment whenever he saw him, and fear, too, and something like excitement, which frightened him in a whole different way. Reid had proven he could and would bring him to his knees if he so pleased. It was not the threat Sean was worried about, though, but the realisation that he had not completely hated the position, provided someone like Reid was reaching down to him. This attraction, so twisted up in his forced submission, scared him more than any show of Reid’s powers ever could.

“How is Mrs. Gillingham doing? Have you talked to her recently? I treated her just a while ago.” Reid asked, pushing his hands into the pockets of his coat.

Sean shook off his thoughts and looked up at him.

“Not as much as I’d like to, what with the troubles here. She hasn’t been feeling sick lately, I know that. Martin Nightingale takes care of her, but he’s – well, I would not talk ill of him. At least he makes sure she’s alright.”

“I know what you mean about Mr. Nightingale,” Reid answered with a nod. “I do think he’s exploiting her weak mind.”

“If her son were still alive, this would not be happening. Terrible, what happened to her Jack, may God rest his soul,” Sean muttered. Terrible, but so commonplace here.

“Did you know him well?”

“When Jack was a boy, he used to run with a gaggle of kids, some who spent quite a few nights here, so I saw a lot of him for a few years. He liked to read, too, and sometimes would ask me to show him passages of the bible. That’s a long time ago now.” Sean stopped himself. “But I’m sure you have other things to do than listen to me reminisce.”

“Don’t worry, I do very much enjoy listening to you.”

Sean wasn’t sure what to say to that. “It’s good to see you still so involved in the matters of the district,” he said, in hopes of ferrying around Reid’s perplexing answer. “You have done a lot for the people here.”

Jonathan showed his teeth in an unhappy approximation of a smile.

“You flatter me too much. It seems that when push comes to shove, I am not all that great at making a difference. Perhaps when wielding a club, I do, but with words...”

“Are you speaking about anything in particular?” Sean asked. It was a hunch, but he had been doing his job for long enough to develop a sense for those half-spoken confessions by now.

Reid hesitated.

“There was a friend of mine, a vampire, whom I could not save from her own sadness and regrets,” he said, after a moment.

“What happened to her?”

“She took her own life.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. May she rest in peace.”

“Do you believe she could? She has lived several centuries. I feel like that is a lot of time to amass sins.”

“It’s also a lot of time to repent for them,” Sean said gently. “We are all sinners, God knows this and still loves us. And if she was your friend, surely she was not a wholly evil person?”

“No, she was not at all,” Reid said thoughtfully. “But she was not an angel, either. If someone is indeed weighing, I don’t know what direction the scales would tip.”

Sean watched him stare at the clouded night sky for a moment.

“Are you worried that you will become unredeemable if you live long enough, too?”

A smile twitched at the corner of Reid’s mouth.

“I’m worried I already am. But,” he added, turning abruptly before Sean could say something, “I did not mean to make you work so late into the night. You surely have better things to do than listen to me reminisce, too.”

“If you feel the need to, you are as welcome to speak to me as anyone,” Sean said honestly.

“I guess that’s why they call you a saint. Good night, Sean.”

Before Sean could ask Reid what he meant by that, he was brushing past the tents and towards the gate of the shelter’s enclosure.

-

Reid returned two nights later, as Sean had just finished patching up a hole in a tent and was kneeling on the ground to gather up the sewing needle, leftover fabric and thick yarn. When he turned to look over his shoulder at a quiet crunch on the stones behind him, he found the man standing over him and almost jumped. He could not get to his feet fast enough.

“Sorry,” Reid said. “I did not meant to scare you.”

“No, it’s just such a cold night I didn’t expect anyone to be outside,” Sean answered, too quickly.

Reid waited for him to grab the materials he’d left on the ground.

“I’m here because I need to ask you a favour.”

Sean hoped he did not look as apprehensive as he felt when he nodded his head.

“There is a woman I met in the West End – Carina Billow. She has been driven mad and I find it very difficult to get through to her. Would you perhaps give it a try? You have a gentler approach than me.”

The tightness in Sean’s ribcage loosened. There was nothing terrifying about helping a lost soul, no, he could do that.

“Of course,” he said, opening the tent flap to put needle, yarn and fabric away in a wooden box. “Though I can’t promise you I’ll be more successful than you. I have noticed you’re very... persuasive.”

There was a way Reid sometimes spoke to the people at his asylum that had them spilling secrets Sean would have never in a thousand years thought they’d confess to a near stranger. His gaze lingered on Reid, who gave a smile that looked guilty.

“It’s a power of Ekons to nudge the mind to speak more freely than one usually would,” he confessed. “But it only goes so far.”

Sean wondered briefly if Reid had used this power on him. He didn’t think so, but he also didn’t think he would know for sure if he had. Skals were more resilient than humans, but they were still firmly below the powerful Ekons in most anything.

“I wouldn’t, Sean,” Reid said, as if he’d read Sean’s mind, and for a brief moment, Sean wondered if he could do that, too. “I promise not to force your hand anymore.”

“You really should not force anyone’s hand,” Sean admonished, relieved despite himself.

He led the way to the gate and Reid caught up easily on his long legs.

“I do try to use the power only if there is information I need. But I am wary of doing it to her more than I already have. Her mind seems so frail and it’s not madness which medical science knows that made her this way.”

“You said she was driven insane,” Sean remembered.

“Yes. From what I managed to find out, it seems that a powerful vampire broke her mind on purpose. I need a name or some other clue to his identity. Perhaps he knows how to fix her.” He frowned. “Or at the very least, if that is like asking him to unscramble an egg, or he simply refuses, I may be able to keep him from doing it to anyone else.”

Slowly, Sean nodded his head. If a vampire was running around doing such terrible things to mortals, then they would have to be stopped. That would be Reid’s mission, though; Sean would simply see what he could do for this poor woman.

“It seems some vampires see all mortals as lesser than them,” Sean said quietly.

He knew how easy it was to think so because in those days he’d spent at the shelter without Reid’s blood, the heady fever had driven him to feel like more than human. He still begged God for forgiveness for the hubris that seemed so undeserved and alien now, seeing as how he was just a man feeding on corpses.

“And everyone not an Ekon,” Reid reminded him. “I confess I am worried about you sometimes.”

“Why?”

“The hunters may not be able to recognise you because you are so different from other Skals, but vampires certainly would know your true nature. There’s a reason Old Bridget keeps to the sewers. You are very exposed.”

“I can’t leave my flock just to protect myself,” Sean said.

Reid smiled. “I had a feeling you would say that. Still, keep it in mind. I have been to the Ascalon Club. To those vampires, you would at best be an exotic pet, and at worst a challenge to what they perceive to be their Ekon superiority.”

Sean fell quiet for a moment. Other than a brief conversation with Edgar Swansea, who was newly a vampire himself and worryingly ecstatic about it, and of course his acquaintance with Reid and the sewer Skals, Sean had very little contact with what could perhaps be called vampire society. He only knew it existed at all because Old Bridget had told him about the Ascalon Club once. Reid was probably right, but it changed nothing. Sean was where he needed to be. It had never been a safe spot when all that really protected him from the gangs was a nickname and so he would not cower in fear now.

“In my experience, the kind of people who have clubs in the West End do not visit the East End docks much,” he answered, finally. “But thank you for looking out for me.”

Reid gave him a thoughtful look from the corner of his eyes and nodded his head. “Of course.”

-

Carina Billow was a truly tragic soul, Sean found, as he walked between the old stone houses of the West End with her. Barely able to string two sentences together without her mind wandering back to the rats she’d been forced to focus on, she could not hold much of a conversation.

However, Sean had the hints Reid had given him, and he knew that the most powerful tools in dealing with people were time and attention. He followed her on her erratic way, spoke to her whenever it looked like she wasn’t totally distracted by her search for vermin, and found bits and pieces of a life destroyed between her words: shreds of memories of a sister, of friends, of dreams.

“If it hadn’t been for Jacob,” she said, scratching at a hole in the wall as she knelt on the ground.

“Jacob?” he asked.

“Jacob, my sweet Jacob. Oh... I’m not... I’m not supposed to say that. Where are they?!”

She pushed her fingers into the dirty gap between the stones.

When he was totally sure there was not more to extract from her anymore, Sean returned to the spot where he had told Reid they’d meet up again. Considering how close to sun-up it was, it was no surprise Reid was already waiting, though he’d told Sean he had a few errands to run here as well.

“Jacob?”

Reid repeated the name Sean had told him.

“It’s not much, I know,” Sean said. “May God save this woman, what has he done to her? This is cruel. I wish she’d live closer to the shelter. With as much trouble as we are in these days, I won’t have much time to visit.”

“I will see if I can’t make her come to Pembroke. We have a few mental patients there. At least she wouldn’t be wandering the streets alone,” Reid said as he got up from the barrel he’d been sitting on and smiled briefly at Sean. “You must have spoken to her for two hours. I wish I had your patience when it comes to bedside manner.”

“You are a good doctor, though,” Sean said. “You were very kind to me when you found me in William Bishop’s lair.”

Those memories of Reid’s voice gently refocusing him on reality and then his hands picking him up from the cold, blood-stained ground were just another reason why it was embarrassing sometimes to face his true opinion of Reid.

“I wasn’t always kind to you,” Reid said quietly as they walked down the broad, empty road. “And I can tell from the way you look at me that you have not forgiven me.”

“Well...”

“I’m not saying that you should. I know I was horrible to you. In some way, I did the same thing to you this Jacob did to Miss Billow, didn’t I? I needed to break you so you would obey me.” He exhaled sharply. “But I assure you, I wanted to help you, and I apologise.”

Sean glanced at Reid and found him looking earnestly contrite. He halted for a moment under the diffuse light of a street lamp.

“It’s not that I don’t think you did the right thing, Dr. Reid,” Sean said. “I owe you my life.”

“It’s fine, Sean. You already thanked me, which is much more than one could expect, considering circumstances. I just regret that I missed the chance to make a friend of you, but I understand that I can ask no more of you than your understanding, and in fact that is already a gift.”

Sean was left speechless for a moment by Reid’s words. He’d never thought that Reid would find any value in his friendship. Of course, he had done his very best of pushing the thought of Reid away at every opportunity when it intruded on him, so there had been little time to consider it. Now he felt doubly guilty, for not forgiving a man who had done so much for him and others, and for letting his own muddled feelings prevent him from seeing Reid’s good intentions.

“I don’t dislike you, Dr. Reid. I just...” He tripped over his own words. “What you did was necessary and I believe that you meant no harm. You are always helping people out, after all. Still, sometimes I just... I just want to punch you,” he blurted out.

Reid stared at him for a moment and then laughed out loud.

“I’m sorry-” Sean began, mortified. It was not his way at all to translate his feelings into violence, but with the emotional chaos Reid had left him with, his reason was at an end.

“Don’t be,” Reid answered. “I perfectly well understand.” He cocked his head with an almost impish smile. “If that’s what it takes to work out the tension between us, I promise not to hit back. Give it a shot.”

The light-hearted tone of Reid’s voice finally forced a smile on Sean’s face, too. In that moment, the fear he’d felt for so long seemed completely unnecessary. Reid was so friendly, even after Sean had said such a silly thing. He felt human for a moment, and like Reid didn’t care very much that he didn’t live up to his saintly nickname right now, which was freeing.

“I’m not going to punch you, Dr. Reid,” Sean said, almost laughing.

“I acknowledge I do kind of deserve it.”

“Yes, you do,” Sean said. “Bastard.”

Reid chuckled.

“I’d be hurt, but hearing a bad word from your mouth is just kind of surreal.”

Sean had to huff a brief laugh, after all.

“I think I’m done,” he said.

“That was my punishment? I’ve been called worse by my best mates.”

“That may be, but I never say such things to my friends, Dr. Reid, so I won’t say it to you anymore.”

Reid smiled at him.

“Thank you, Sean. And – would you call me Jonathan?”

He offered him his hand and Sean shook it with a nod.

-

Though Sean had not forgotten what Jonathan had done, he felt truly somewhat purged of his grudge as he returned home that morning. He had never liked to hold on to bad thoughts, so it was a weight off his shoulders. This, however, was replaced the following nights by the poison-sweet realisation that with his anger, the chains that laid around the full manifestation of his affection for Jonathan had been removed, too. With it came the sharper edges of attraction that he had never dealt well with.

He prayed for his peace of mind and let the concerns at the shelter take his thoughts off the man. The flu made sure there was always enough to do, and when winter collapsed like a wave on London with arctic winds and a blanket of snow, things only got more hectic.

It was almost morning and Sean had just handed out a batch of freshly-washed blankets when he heard a knock at the door. He opened it just a tad and the sound of the screaming wind almost deafened him. Blinking through the flakes, he recognised Jonathan.

“Doctor... Jonathan?”

He stepped aside and Jonathan slipped in, pushing the door shut behind himself. He looked quite miserable, covered head to toe in a layer of snow, which had gotten stuck in his beard and collected on the brim of his collar.

“Good evening. Would you happen to have shelter for a lone wanderer?” He took off his gloves and smiled sheepishly, rubbing his hands together. “The cold won’t kill me, but I can’t see a foot before me in this weather.”

“Yes, of course.”

The Paxton sisters and Ichabod, who had gotten shut in by the storm here earlier this night, greeted Jonathan as they walked past them into Sean’s office. Jonathan took off his coat, awkwardly holding it in his arms so that clumps of snow wouldn’t land on Sean’s floor.

“Put it on the radiator,” Sean said. “Would you like a blanket? Our heating system is a bit spotty right now. Well, in truth, it always is.”

The building was old and Sean rarely had the money to even consider paying someone to look at its ancient machinery, which probably couldn’t be fixed without tearing up all the walls, anyway. Still, it worked about half the time, which was better than nothing.

“Only if you have any left over.”

Sean handed him a twice-patched, worn blanket from the stack on his table and watched Jonathan wrap himself up in it, shuddering. He looked charming this way, a bit younger than his age without his usual thoughtful, grave expression.

“I hope this weather doesn’t hold up until Christmas,” Sean said, to distract himself from the thought. “It’d be a shame if people had the holidays spoiled by it. It has been such a hard year for everybody.”

“Indeed,” Jonathan said as he sat down on a chair. “Do you celebrate here with your flock?”

“Yes. A lot of them have nowhere else to go,” Sean answered, taking a seat opposite of him. “I do encourage them to go home, the ones that still have family, but many don’t feel they can face them.” He looked up at Jonathan. “Are you going to celebrate?”

“My father has long left, and my sister and her family are all dead. My mother is still alive, but she has been feeble lately. If I didn’t come, she would just imagine I did. She’s actually convinced I’m dead, which may be clairvoyant or mad,” Jonathan said quietly. “But our butler is still perfectly clear of mind and he has no family of his own. I think it would mean a lot to him if I came. He always cared well for us, so I owe it to him.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your family. I hope you can find some meaning in the celebration still. You should go to see your butler, at least, and I’m sure even your mother would be happy, even if she can’t quite place her memories anymore.”

Jonathan nodded his head.

“How is it, celebrating Christmas at the shelter?”

“Never boring,” Sean said, smiling to himself. “I just try to feed people a bit better than I usually can and give some sort of makeshift sermon to honour the Lord. But last year Booth Digby from the Wet Boot Boys got into a fight with Jamie Kipling from the Dockers' Union, who spends the night here sometimes. After I told them to take it elsewhere, they went a few houses down the road and somehow managed to set the place on fire. I think they knocked over an oil lamp? We spent most of Christmas night putting out the flames. No one got more than a fright, thank the Lord, and we had the miracle of seeing the Wet Boot Boys work with the Union. The year before that I missed dinner and breakfast because I was delivering Fannie Wrigth’s twin girls... she didn’t know then she was a widow yet. I could go on...”

Smiling, Jonathan played with a loose thread on the blanket.

“I was about to ask if you felt lonely on the holidays sometimes, since I missed my family terribly the two Christmases I was on the continent, and you are far from Dublin, after all. I know you are an orphan, but I imagine a man like you must have friends wherever he stayed. But I suppose you barely have time with busy Christmases such as that...”

Sean hesitated, but then decided that if he told Jonathan they could be friends, he needed to put trust in him, even on the off-chance that Jonathan would turn the knowledge on him again. 

“There was bad blood when I left the orphanage, since the priests did not believe my story about their brother. I ended up all but fleeing the place. I sent a few letters, but maybe they burned them on arrival, or told the others not to answer me. Maybe my friends thought I was a liar, too. I do miss them, but... that was long ago. I came to London straight after leaving that place.”

Jonathan looked at him in surprise. “You were brave to speak up.”

“Not at all. If I had been alone, I would have left without a word. I was not the only boy there, though... God gave me the strength to try to warn others.” Sean frowned, looking down at his hand on the table. “I think I failed in that, but I was given another chance to help here.”

“And I think you’re too hard on yourself. But – I didn’t mean to stir up these memories again. I’m sorry.”

“You just asked. I rarely have an opportunity to talk openly to anyone but God, so it’s fine.”

“In that case, let me extend the same offer you gave me. If you need someone to listen...”

Sean knew he should reject it. He already had the Lord to confess to, he needed to burden no man with his troubles. However, he stopped himself just before the words came out of his mouth. It was his task here to soothe others, which meant there was no room for his own sorrows. That was fine, it was what Sean had chosen. God would always be the one he asked advice from. Still, he was human, or something close to it, and it felt good just to speak with someone who knew what it was like to struggle and fail and try your best just like he did.

“Thank you. Perhaps you would like to drop by here sometime around Christmas. You would be very welcome and – I would be happier for having you. I can’t offer you the food, but perhaps you would like to see the people you help when they are merry for once.”

Jonathan smiled softly.

“You’re not just inviting me in case anything else burns down and you need another pair of hands to carry buckets, I hope.”

Sean gave him a reproachful glance for the suggestion and Jonathan laughed.

“I will make sure to come by.”

A warm light flickered in Sean’s chest and he found himself unable to suppress his smile.

-

As promised, Jonathan came on the night after Christmas Day. Sean had not seen him enter, but he noticed the drops of blood on the ground in front of the door to his office. When he opened up, he found Jonathan kneeling on the floor.

Sean locked the door before he ran to him, sinking down by his side.

“What happened?!”

“There was... a crazed Vulkod. Down by the quay,” Jonathan said, smiling weakly. “I was on the way here from the West End. For Christmas.”

Sean looked down at Jonathan’s hand, which hung useless by his side. It was mangled, the fingers turning into several directions the bones should not. He winced at the sight. Jonathan was bleeding profusely from one ear. One of his feet was turned out to the side, like he did not want to put weight on it, and he was missing a chunk of flesh from his cheek. Sean could see teeth through the hole.

“I just needed a place to rest,” Jonathan rasped. “I know I’ll be safe here. Everyone is safe with you, Sean.”

Sean stared at him, struggling to take in the whole catastrophic damage. It looked like an animal had mauled him. Blood was everywhere. Why was he not regenerating?

Blood, of course. He needed more blood or it would take much longer and prolong his suffering.

Sean felt his heart stumble in his chest as it made a decision before his head could intervene, determined to prove Jonathan right that there was a place for him where he could be safe, even if Sean was a weaker vampire.

“Yes,” he said. “You’re safe here. Let me help you as much as I can, though. You need blood.”

It was no different than helping anyone, he told himself. Jonathan just had other needs and as long as it was between the two of them, no one had to get hurt.

Jonathan stared up at him. “But...”

“I can eat dead flesh to regenerate. It’s much easier to find food for me than you.”

He didn’t like it, but to ease Jonathan’s pain he’d gladly feed on rotting flesh.

Slowly, Sean pulled Jonathan closer, until his mouth was almost at his neck. He could have offered him his wrist, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want Jonathan bowing before him.

Jonathan’s cold lips inched slowly across his neck, searching for the pulse point. Sean’s hands grasped onto the rough cloak Jonathan wore, a shudder running down his spine with icy fingers. Like pinpricks, the fangs pierced his flesh and then sank deep, deep into him. Jonathan’s lips clamped hard around his flesh. All the remaining strength in his broken body was focused into the bite, it seemed, and as he sucked Sean’s blood with wet noises, he straightened in Sean’s embrace, one hand cradling his head and gently bending it back, the other, moving properly again, on his thigh just for support. Sean’s head swam. The pain thrummed through his blood as it welled out into Jonathan’s mouth.

Jonathan pulled off with an audible groan of effort. Sean’s blood was dripping into his beard and coloured his lips and teeth red, but his cheek had almost closed up. They stared at each other and then Jonathan leaned forward and pressed their lips together, sharing the taste of iron. It seemed so right that moment Sean forgot to be surprised. When Jonathan pulled back with fear in his eyes and the first syllables of an apology spilling from his mouth, Sean silenced him with a clumsy kiss.

He remembered embarrassment by the time they parted, his face burning, and yet he did not lean away when Jonathan came closer again and kissed the wounds on his neck, soothing the pain with his lips even as the pressure should have aggravated it. They sat with their heads leaning together.

“Thank you,” Jonathan said into his ear and his breath sent another shudder through Sean’s body, which was all nerves as Jonathan still held him in his grasp.

“You’re welcome.”

Jonathan pulled back and rested his hands on Sean’s shoulders, licking his lips. Sean was thinking a thousand thoughts at once, not a single one finding completion.

“And I had a whole speech planned,” Jonathan said with a self-deprecating smile.

“Speech?” Sean echoed, puzzled.

“About the fact that you being here, still doing what you do, being as you are, and accepting me back helped drag me out of the hole I had tumbled into after my sister’s and friend’s death. Granted, I don’t know if I would have been courageous enough to confess the full extent of my feelings, but... it would have been more graceful than a bloody-mouthed kiss.”

“I’m happy... I’m happy I could help you. But I’m happy for the kiss, too.”

Jonathan smiled and reached into his pocket. The cardboard box he pulled out was slightly crumpled and had a few spatters of blood on it. He frowned at it.

“I’m sorry for the state of your present. I really did not mean to get in a fight.”

Carefully, Sean took the package from his hand.

“But I didn’t get you anything...”

He had not expected to get anything, either. The presents he got for Christmas came in the form of donations for the asylum, and the ones he gave were communal.

“I wouldn’t call a gallon of blood nothing. Go on.”

Carefully, Sean lifted the dodged lid. Inside the small box, he found a rosary in polished bronze.

“I noticed that your chain had torn,” Jonathan said, touching the cross that sat on Sean’s chest. “I figured you might like a replacement, but I know it’s difficult sometimes to get to the shops when you’re only about at night.”

“You needn’t have...”

“I wanted to.”

Sean ran the chain through his fingers, enjoying the habitual feel of the smooth beads in their well-known pattern. Perhaps, he dared to hope, if his torn chain could have been a sign, this might be, too.

“Thank you.”

Jonathan laughed quietly and Sean raised his eyes, giving him a look of confusion.

“What?”

“Nothing, just... I know you told me not to, but I just thought, I can listen to your heart now. It’s so fast and loud. I’m sorry.”

Sean felt himself smile.

“Maybe I’ll allow you to examine me, since it’s Christmas and all,” he answered.

“Don’t tempt me to make jokes that reflect badly on my virtue, Sean.”

Jonathan kissed him again and Sean clutched Jonathan’s rosary, thanking God for this gift.


End file.
